


Push Through the Fog

by mdln_grc



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Claudia Stilinski, Alternate Universe - High School, Depressed Stiles, Depression, Elementary School, F/M, Hospitalization, Lacrosse, M/M, My First Fanfic, Recovery, Schizophrenia, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Build, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Suicidal Stiles Stilinski, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 10:46:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7798759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mdln_grc/pseuds/mdln_grc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At age five, Stiles Stilinski kissed his first boy. Not with intent, though. He was just a little boy who didn't quite know how to express his gratitude toward a close friend. Flash forward eleven years, and he now knows that maybe he'd like to kiss boys, not just to show gratitude. Years before had been too stressful, too dark, for him to even think about something like that; enter in a hot senior, best friends, and a crazy new life with werewolves. High school wasn't supposed to be like this, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Learn to be Special

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all readers! This is my first fanfic, and I hope you'd enjoy! It started out as an original work, but I figured that it could be changed into a different story? I apologize in advance if some of the timings don't line up with the show; it was originally my personal writing that I changed while writing it. Please leave any comments at the bottom of the work, and I would greatly appreciate any criticism. :D 
> 
> Music for this chapter: The artist, "Sleeping At Last". They have incredible music involving piano, strings, and vocals. I 100% recommend them to anyone, especially for study music.
> 
> See the end comments for warnings)

It all began on April 8. Yes, that’s my birthday. I don’t remember which one it was; maybe my fifth? 

I had all my friends over – granted, that was only two other people. Even at a young age people knew I was weird. One of my best friends, (at the time), was named Jackson. Jackson Whittemore. He was several inches taller than me, even though I was pretty short for my age. His genetics already had him predisposed to be the quarterback, with the cheer captain as his girlfriend, and to eventually have two beautiful babies. 

But we’re five right now. That’s all in the future. 

I was sitting next to him at the table when I was unwrapping presents. His was something we’d talked about before; a limited-addition Captain America action figure. He managed to convince his parents to not only get that, but also the matching Bucky Barnes figure. I was so incredibly ecstatic that I didn’t know what to do with myself. So I did the only rational thing a five-year-old boy could do when he wanted to thank someone. 

I kissed him. 

Square on the mouth. Very quick, nothing obscene, but it caused quite the stir at that party. Jackson didn’t know that what I’d done was wrong, he just gave me a small grin and accepted my gratitude. 

Little kids don’t know what discrimination is. But adults do. 

Two seconds after the “incident”, and Jackson’s mom started shouting at mine while pulling him away. I, of course, was baffled. I was just thanking him! What did I do wrong?

My mom pulled me aside and explained that it was inappropriate for me to kiss my friends. This was very confusing to me. I asked why is was so inappropriate? 

"Well, honey, you can't kiss them unless they say you can. It's very bad to kiss someone without their permission. Do you understand?" 

I nodded solemnly. She grinned at me and pulled me in for a hug, kissing the top of my head. "Thank you for understanding, sweetheart. Now, would you like some cake?" 

"Mom!" I exclaim, scrubbing my hair. "You didn't ask!"

She laughs. A big belly laugh, traditional Claudia Stilinski. "I'm sorry. May I give you a kiss?"

"I guess," I mumble. She then proceeds to smother me in kisses. With a shriek, I wiggle out of her grasp and run back to my friends.

The party went on. I successfully smashed a piece of cake into Scott's face, and Jackson contained himself to simply smearing frosting all over me. All in all, a good party. But that was the first day that my mom, may she rest in peace up above, knew I was different. 

Life continued. Everyone grew older, and everyone grew up. No, those aren't the same thing. Unfortunately, growing up before you've grown older can destroy someone. Mom knew that, and knew that if I found out that she was sick, that it would make me very different from the other kids, very quickly. 

Because of this, she didn't tell me why she was slowly getting more forgetful, or why she see things that weren't there, or why she would curl up in a ball in whatever corner she could find, screaming to get the things off of her. Dad was getting worse, too, but not in the same way. It was like a boulder on his shoulders, Mom's illness. Not telling me just made it harder; he had no one to turn to for support.

They couldn't keep it from me when Mom got too sick to be kept at home. She got so paranoid that she wouldn't eat anything, convinced that it was poisoned or rotten or alive or whatever her mind conjured to torture her. I'd noticed her deterioration, but thought that she was just sick with something much more minor. So when I walked into that hospital room to see my lively, glowing, bubbly mother reduced to a pale figure laying on a cot, I couldn't function. 

Jackson had since decided he was too cool for Scott and I. Scott gladly let me stay in his room and cry into his pillow when the stress of the hospital got to be too much. Melissa was one of the nurses in Mom's ward, and would come back and let me know how she was doing. Dad couldn't always be at home, and I took to staying at the McCall's almost as much as my own home. He threw himself into his work, only coming up for air when he needed to eat, go to the hospital, or see me. 

Mom passed away in November. Dad was talking to her doctor in the hallway when she had a moment of clarity.

“Sweetheart,” she whispered. She looked very different. Vibrant eyes and glossy hair gone dull, skin pale and dry, and a previously melodic voice too weak to push through a lot of conversations.

“Yes?” I never let my voice get louder than hers when it was just us. It seemed cruel to remind her of what she didn’t have.

“Promise me that you’ll be there for your father.” She smiled softly. “He’s a strong man, but I fear that the loss of me could result in his mass destruction.”

“I’ll do my best, Mom.” My voice cracks, exposing the tears I’d fought so hard to keep back during every visit. “But you’re not gonna leave. You’re gonna be with us forever, right?”

Her smile turned sad. “Oh sweetheart, I can’t promise that. You know that.” At my terrified face and eyes full of tears, she gestures for me to lay next to her. I comply without hesitation, burying my face in her neck as her arms encircle me. 

She kissed the top of my head. “I just want you to remember one thing for me; can you do that?”

“Absolutely. Anything for you, Mom.”

“Remember that you’re special. Regardless of what anyone says, okay? If they say hurtful things, it’s only because they don’t understand. You’re an incredible person, and you’re going to do brilliant things. Remember to be the sun burning through a morning mist, and help them to understand. Can you do that for me?”

The tears that had simply threatened to fall were pouring down my face. The dam had broken, and there was no going back.

“Yes, Mom,” I cry quietly. Sniffing, I looked up at her. “But I won’t have to remember that, because you’ll remind me every day, won’t you? Because you’re not going anywhere.”

“I can see the mist,” she said absently. Her eyes went distant; she was seeing something I couldn’t. “Oh, sweetheart, it’s gorgeous. The sun makes it glow all golden.”

“Mom, there’s no mist,” I begged. I was shaking. I didn’t realize it, but all of sudden my vision was wobbling. Even through the tears, I could see her arm reach out, then fall limp on the bed.

“Dad!” I screamed. Something was wrong. Mom was fine, but everything else was wrong.

He ran into the room, and heard the mournful sound of the monitor. His face went white, and he stumbled into the chair.

“God, Claudia,” he whispered into his hand. He was shaking more than me, but managed to get next to the bed. With his gentle kiss to her forehead, I understood.

But I didn’t want to.

“No!” I shriek. “No, she’s fine! Get the doctor, she just needs some new medicine! She just needs, she needs…” My words were reduced to incoherent sobs.

“Stiles, come here.” My dad’s strong, capable hands reached around my waist. With little struggle, mostly due to my hysteria, I went with him and was wrapped in his arms. 

With that passing moment, my mom was gone.

And I was alone.


	2. Fog Surrounding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness ensues when the sun goes down. Claudia, with her glowing smile and brilliant personality, was the sun. Her family, the planet that circled her. And when she went out, Stiles and the Sheriff found themselves surrounded by demons that are nearly impossible to fight off. The Sheriff can find a small beacon in Stiles, his son that needs to be protected at all costs. But Stiles can't find his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two for ya lovelies! 
> 
> Music for this chapter: "Sound of Silence" by Seether
> 
> (See end notes for warnings)

Middle school was dark. 

I couldn't even think about forming valid relationships with anyone other than the people I already knew. My report cards would come home with good grades, but comments on my lack of focus from every teacher. Dad took me to a doctor, and I was diagnosed with ADHD. Adderall helped a little, but I suddenly found myself thrown in the midst of puberty and the wide field of medications. 

Freshman year came quickly; too quickly. I was hoping for my classmates to suddenly leave me alone, but they still found me weird, and didn't hold back on telling me so. Panic attacks at home, alone, slowly tore off little pieces of my sanity and self-esteem until I reached a point where I thought I couldn't handle it any more. 

Down the hatch with all the pills in the medicine cabinet. 

Dad had come home early from work, and he found me shivering on the floor. 

"Stiles, what are you doing?" he asked, voice hoarse. He still had his uniform on, with his jacket folded over his arm and a cup of coffee in his hand. 

"I'm so fucking sorry," I choked out, and the tears just poured out. I couldn't see straight, and his image began to sway. 

"Why? Shit, Stiles, what're you -- " 

Then he saw the bottles on the counter. 

"Stiles! Fuck, no, no, no..." 

Dad scooped me up and sprinted down into his cruiser; he hasn't carried me like this since I was seven. What happened next was a blur. I remember sirens and flashing lights, loud voices, and shaking so hard on a table that the whole thing rattled. When I finally became lucid, my hands were tied down to the table and my dad was sitting in the chair next to the bed. He'd fallen asleep, head tilted at an angle that looked incredibly uncomfortable. 

I don't know why, but I started laughing. It woke him up, and he looked so defeated that I found myself crying at the same time. 

“I’m so fucking sorry, Dad,” I blurt; God, my throat hurts. Ironic words. Maybe I’m about to overdose again.

“I just wish you would talk to me,” he sighs. God, he looks so defeated.

“I’ll try, I really will. It’s just so hard.” The tears aren’t stopping anytime soon, and I can already feel my pillowcase getting damp.

“Son, that’s what I’m here for. You just need to let me help you, okay? I really just want to be able to talk to each other.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “Stiles, I – I just want you to come to me first. Swear to God that you’ll come to me first. Okay?”

My voice is gone, and I’m definitely not laughing anymore. I can only nod in agreement. 

I swallow. “When do the handcuffs come off?”

He frowns. “I’m not sure. I can ask the doctor.” And right as he stands, the door opens. It’s Melissa and a guy I haven’t seen before. I’ll assume he has a medical degree.

“Hello, Sheriff. Stiles.” He nods at each of us before turning to my dad. “Sir, would you like to talk in the hall?”

“No, he needs to hear this stuff.” Dad gives me a look, and I swallow my words of protest.

“Alright.” The doctor takes a deep breath. “Well, Stiles, my name is Dr. Deaton. I’m your doctor. Due to the medications you ingested, and at such large quantities, we had to pump your stomach. Then we gave you activated charcoal – don’t give me that look, it helps. It should keep any of the medicine we couldn’t remove from absorbing into your bloodstream. Now, I’m not sure if you remember this, but you were quite agitated. You were also seizing, so these restraints are for both your safety and the staff's. I am sorry to say that protocol demands they stay in place for 24 hours after your admittance.”

He clears his throat and looks at his chart. “I’ve talked to your father about this next bit; for the next six weeks, possibly longer, you’ll be visiting with a psychologist. She’s very good at her job, and I wouldn’t have you go to anyone else. Her name is Ms. Morrell, and she’ll help you a lot. You’ll also visit me frequently for checkups. Do you understand?”

I nod. Seeing someone about my problems isn’t exactly what I’d really want to do, but I guess I did something that warrants a therapist. 

Dr. Deaton turns to my dad. “Stiles will kept overnight for observation, but he should get to go home tomorrow afternoon. I’d recommend you go get some rest when Stiles falls asleep, or we could bring in another bed?”

“Another bed would be great, thanks.” Dr. Deaton nods and, with a small smile, leaves the room. Melissa moves over to me and checks over all my medical stuff. I honestly have no idea if what she’s doing is actually doctor stuff, just something she can do to occupy her hands while she tries to talk to me.

“Stiles, honey, are you okay?” she asks. And because I know Melissa isn’t stupid, I know that she’s only asking because she doesn’t want to cross a boundary.

“Yeah, Mrs. McCall. I’m good now.” She gives me a skeptical look, but I try to grin convincingly.

The next afternoon, I was sitting next to my dad in the cruiser. I’d officially been deemed stable enough to be released, but would be monitored over the next several weeks. Dr. Deaton really wasn’t kidding about frequent checkups, though. 

We pulled into the driveway, and Dad looks at me. “Son, I need to talk about something really quick.”

“What’s up?” We’ve been trying really hard to act normal since the hospital, and it’s worked so far.

“Now, we both know that school starts back up in a couple months. And I’d like you to do something for me.”

“Depends,” I start. “Will it involve sacrificing animals?”

“No, Stiles. That’s your senior year,” he deadpans. “Son, I want you to join the lacrosse team.”

“Dad!” I protest, but he raises a silencing hand.

“Don’t argue. Sports will keep you occupied, and it’ll ease my head knowing that you’re off running lines somewhere instead of being home alone. Scott’s doing it, too, so I don’t want to hear any complaining unless it’s coming from both of you at the same time. Understand?”

I want to argue. I want to fight him on this so bad. But then I look at his face, and I know that I can’t do that to him. Not after everything that’s happened. 

“Alright,” I sigh in defeat. 

“Good. Practice starts two weeks before school does. I’d recommend doing some form of exercise before you hit the field.” He exits the car, all confident and powerful. It irks me that I now have to work out before doing something I don’t want to do in the first place.

Once I’m inside, I grab my phone and text Scott.

Stiles: dude, is my dad lyin abt LACROSSE?!?!?!?!?!?

Scott: srry dude. no joke. suffer together at practice?

Stiles: no. ull suffer alone. y would u agree????

Scott: bc it’s a good idea, stiles. i think we both need this.

I can’t even get mad at him for that. He’s right; I’m just being a baby about it. 

With a deep breath, I open my computer and search for easy workouts. I don’t want everyone to know just how out-of-shape I truly am when practice starts. 

Stiles: let the tortur begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for suicidal thoughts, attempted suicide, overdose, hospitals,

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for death of a parent, hospitalization, schizophrenia


End file.
